


Saint Nightmare

by kashinoha



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Can be read as pre-slash, Heatwave's good with kids, Len tries to be an asshole but fails, References to Child Abuse, omg there's plot, spoilers for 2x03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 19:59:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5346710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kashinoha/pseuds/kashinoha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or that time genetics and Christmas have a disagreement, and the Rogues get confused about which side they’re on. Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saint Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> I actually completed this a couple of weeks ago, so any similarities to the episode airing next Tuesday or _Arrow_ 4x08 are purely coincidental. I thought I should mention this because I just watched the episode promo and it has at least two things from this fic in it, halp. 
> 
> Either way, I just wanted to do something for the holidays. I hope you enjoy reading!

**Saint Nightmare  
**

All characters © DC Comics

 

 

It is only Cisco’s extensive experience with family babysitting that tells him there is something very, very wrong with the screaming.

“How can you seriously not know what Rick-rolling is?” he is asking Caitlin not five minutes beforehand, a Macy’s bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder because he doesn’t mind the man-purse look and Caitlin already has three to contend with. “You spend most of your day around computers.”

Caitlin turns to him with a sour expression. It’s uncanny how much more threatening she looks with shopping bags in her arms. “Maybe because I do actual research instead of looking at memes,” she replies.

“Hey watch it, memes are a thing of beauty,” says Cisco, recognizing the practically patented Caitlin Snow Judgy Face. That face should be a meme, he thinks. Maybe he’ll make it happen.

“No, they are the products of people with bad grammar and too much time on their hands,” says Caitlin, shaking her head.

“Just for that I’m sending you a couple of spam links when I get home,” Cisco tells her. He rubs his hands together, but the effect is ruined by the Macy’s bag as it slips down his arm and a very expensive pot, skillet, whatever jabs into his side. Cisco winces. “And I’ll mix them in with your work emails, so you’ll have no choice but to click them all,” he adds. 

“We’re not leaving yet, Cisco,” Caitlin says, and Cisco begins to wonder if vigorous shopping could be considered a meta superpower. “We still need a Christmas present for Clarissa.”

“Oh come on,” he says, exasperated, “we’ve been here what, an hour already?”

“Fifty minutes,” she snaps, despite herself (because even at a mall Caitlin is incapable of losing track of time). “And if you’re going to complain I am never taking you Christmas shopping again.”

“You know the Steins are Jewish,” Cisco reminds her.

Caitlin waves her hand. _"Holiday_ shopping,” she corrects.

They walk by Santa’s Workshop or whatever the Central City mall likes to call it to make it feel more jolly, noting the winding line of kids tugging on the arms of their parents to get a turn on Santa’s lap. _THE NORTH POLE,_ a brightly-lit sign reads.

“Did I ever tell you what Dante used to do every Christmas?” Cisco says, grimacing as he watches a chubby kid at the back of the line demolish a cinna-bun and wipe the remains over his shirt. “It was awful and life-scarring. First, he’d get out tía Celia’s box of old costumes and then he’d dress—“

But Caitlin never does find out what Dante dressed as, since that is when the screaming starts. And it is not Mommy-Won’t-Let-Me-Have-Candy screaming, or I-Fell-Down screaming, or even Billy-Cut-Me-In-Line screaming. It is a sound of pure terror, and it cuts through the air like a jackknife.

“Jesus,” Cisco breathes.

It’s coming from Santa’s Workshop, which is kind of surprising because you know, cheerful fat man and presents and all. Sadly, the kid didn’t seem to get that memo. He’s shrieking at the top of his lungs, arms waving about as he struggles to climb out of a shocked Santa’s lap. The poor souls dressed as elves are looking absolutely mortified and parents are starting to fidget uncomfortably in line. The screaming goes on for longer than it should, prompting more than a few people to leave. They drag their protesting children along with them.

Edging closer, Cisco and Caitlin hear a mother remark, “Third one this week, apparently,” to another under her breath. The second mother makes a sympathetic noise, then snaps something at her own kid who is understandably put out that she did not get to see Santa. Meanwhile, Caitlin and Cisco watch as the screaming child is led gently away by his family, who looks both concerned and deeply embarrassed.

“So,” Cisco says lightly, eyebrows raised, “cranky kids or evil Santa?”

Caitlin’s eyes linger on the display. “I doubt it was Santa, Cisco.”

“Yeah, but,” Cisco says, holding up a finger, “think about it. What if he’s a meta-human?”

“Not everything that happens here is meta-human related,” Caitlin says, dry.

Cisco shrugs, and the Macy’s bag slips down again. He also patents his shrugs, in secret; this one is his increasingly frequent “it’s Central City” shrug.

“True,” he replies. “But, something about this stand is apparently terrifying kids and I don’t think it’s that light-up reindeer. It couldn’t hurt to investigate. Hey,” he nudges Caitlin with his Macy’s bag, “maybe we could sign up as undercover elves.” Caitlin’s stare tells Cisco loud and clear that that is not an option.

“Orrr we can just do regular, boring stakeout. Fine by me. Are we still getting Clarissa’s Hanukkah present, by the way?”

“As if I need another reason to visit the mall during the holidays,” Caitlin sighs.

 

 

 

“So tell me again,” Barry says, slowly. “We’re staking out Central City mall because Cisco thinks…Santa is evil.”

Caitlin grabs a cardboard sleeve from the Starbucks kiosk and slips it over the cup of her latte. “More or less,” she says. It’s only her second latte of the day and while she generally likes shopping, she is not a fan of spying on bratty kids for extended periods of time. They have been eyeing Santa’s Workshop for the better part of two hours, and if—

—“If I have to hear one more Christmas jingle I might actually strangle something,” she grumbles under her breath.

“Would you prefer I sang?” Barry jokes. Caitlin thinks back to a karaoke night eons ago and her stomach flips with residual embarrassment.

“I’d rather you didn’t, actually.”

Barry shrugs and pulls out an energy bar from his pocket. He may be a little slow when it comes to social cues, but it does not take a genius to see what is really bothering Caitlin. It is her first Christmas since losing Ronnie—again, and it shows on the lines of her face and the tight corners of her mouth. Barry takes a chomp out of his energy bar and sweeps his gaze around the mall absently, chewing. He’s actually come to like the disgusting things now; the taste of ass must be growing on him.

Then he spots the jeweler’s shop and he almost chokes on his energy bar.

Caitlin frowns. “Barry?”

Barry coughs, giving his chest a good thump. “Yeah,” he manages, “no. This can’t be good.”

“What can’t be good?” Barry nods to the shop, where Mick Rory and the infamous Snart siblings appear to be eyeing some expensive looking neckwear. Caitlin groans.

“As if my day couldn’t get any better,” she says, two fingers pressed against her temple.

And, as if on cue, the screaming begins.

Barry sees the Rogues look up in surprise and all three of their hands disappear into their pockets. The screaming is indeed coming from Santa’s Workshop, where a girl is wildly pushing herself away from the stand shrieking, “Don’t let him hurt me again!” over and over. Before anyone can make a move the girl barrels through the crowd and runs off, fast, and is quickly lost in the throng of holiday shoppers.

“I’m on it,” Barry says quickly.

“What about Cold and his gang?”

“Keep an eye on them,” orders Barry. “I’ll go find the kid.”

With a nod, Caitlin turns back to the jeweler’s. Only to find that the Rogues are gone. “Great,” she says. “Barry, they’re—“

But Barry’s gone too. Caitlin pulls out her phone to call Cisco, fervently praying those two do not run into each other. And hey, the mall is big. A girl can hope.

 

 

 

But of course the universe is not that kind, it taking more pleasure in laughing its colossal head off at all of Central City, because not ten minutes go by before Barry finds the kid.

And Leonard Snart.

Snart’s crouched down in front of the kid with a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels, his back to Barry. The kid—girl, is still hitching, blotchy-faced and runny-nosed, but she takes a pretzel and puts it in her mouth. It seems to help.

“Giving candy to kids now, Snart?”

“I got this, Flash,” Snart says, without turning around.

“Honestly with the whole crime thing I never pegged you as the best influence on children,” Barry remarks. “Let me handle this. I’m good with kids.”

Snart maneuvers in his crouch so he is facing Barry. His usual features—impassive, borderline smug—are replaced with something that makes Barry hesitate. Snart moves his body so it is in front of the girl. It is slight, barely noticeable, but all the same it sends a clear message to stay back.

“Trust me, not this one,” he says.

“Um,” Barry replies, narrowing his eyes, “you’re not going to do anything to her, right, Snart?” He is only half-joking but he notices, with some alarm, that Snart actually looks angry. It is not an expression Barry is accustomed to seeing on Captain Cold, and it strikes him then that there might be something more going on here. And if it makes Leonard Snart even remotely emotional, then it cannot be anything good.

After a beat the expression is replaced by Snart’s usual sideways smile, though to Barry it seems a tad forced.

“Despite what you may think of me, Flash, I don’t hurt kids,” he says. The girl sniffles and edges closer to him, and isn’t that interesting?

“Glad to see you have…standards,” Barry says, shaking his head. Snart’s still eyeing him in that unnerving, almost protective way so he exhales, dropping his hands at his sides. “Fine. I’ll just, um, be over there.” With a final suspicious look he backs off to a safe distance where he can still keep an eye on Snart without being seen.

A thump from behind makes Barry turn around, where he sees Heatwave reaching into a vending machine for a bag of chips. Mick Rory is not known for being subtle, so Barry is somewhat surprised that he managed to sneak up on him. Mick grapples for a minute, grabs the chips with a satisfied grunt, and pulls his arm out of the slot. The vending machine is smoking a little bit.

Mick looks at him and bares his teeth. “What’sa matter, Flash? You never seen a man get his Lays before?” Barry bites back a groan. Cold’s puns seem to have gotten to Mick, albeit in _much_ poorer taste. Talk about bad influences.

“I’m just making sure your partner doesn’t,” he gestures, _“abduct_ the kid or anything.”

“Relax,” Mick says, popping a couple chips into his mouth. “He’s got a soft spot for the little shits.”

“Yeah that makes me feel better,” Barry mutters under his breath. But the girl does seem calmer, now that he’s looking. He watches as Snart pulls out his cell phone, and a moment later Lisa comes walking over. Barry joins them. Or he would have, if Mick’s gun over his chest had not gotten in the way.

Okay, now _that_ is interesting. He raises his eyebrows at Mick, though it is unseen under the cowl.

“They’ve got it,” Mick grunts. Barry’s eyes dart over to Lisa, who is leading the girl away by the hand. Lisa’s slender, manicured fingers are intertwined with the girl’s small stubby ones.

Barry, carefully ducking out of the heat gun’s blast range, asks, “Mind telling me why I’m even allowing a bunch of criminals around a six year old?” Okay, he doesn’t actually know her age but “kid” is getting boring and six seems about right. Snart straightens up, stretches the kinks out of his knees, and walks over to them. As he does Barry finds his arms folding over the emblem on his chest like a schoolteacher’s.

“Tell me Lisa is taking her back to her parents,” he says.

The corner of Snart’s lip twitches. “Well I could, but that would be a lie.”

“Then you’re going to have to explain to me why you just kidnapped a kid,” Barry says. Nothing about this makes any sense. Something is not right, something Barry knows he is better off not prying into—it’s written all over the pronounced lines between Snart’s eyes. It’s the only thing stopping Barry from darting off and snatching the kid back from Lisa. But to Barry, those lines are familiar. He’s seen them before, in his own mirror. When something is personal.

Cold’s got buttons too, he’s coming to realize, and right now they are being pressed. Barry just does not know who or what is pressing them. He also knows it should not be his concern if the Rogues are having an off day, but it is _definitely_ his concern when they kidnap little girls.

“I don’t expect you to understand, Flash,” replies Snart.

Barry’s lips purse. “I might understand better than the CCPD.”

Mick crushes his empty chip bag to get their attention, pulling back his collar. Barry gets a glimpse of shiny, twisted skin tissue wending its way down Mick’s shoulder. Mick is addressing Barry, but he is looking at Snart the whole time.

“We’ve all got scars, kid,” he says. “Sometimes you just can’t see ‘em.”

“Is…that supposed to mean something to me?” Barry asks slowly, still reeling from one, Captain Cold and children and two, Mick’s unanticipated profundity. He is beginning to suspect that the Rogues know something he doesn’t. “Look, just tell me what’s going on.”

“We’ll be in touch,” Snart says, looking amused. “How does tomorrow sound?”

“I don’t know if this is your way of asking for help, or what,” says Barry, holding up his hands, “but I gotta say, your sister was more straightforward with it.”

“Normally we don’t do this sort of thing,” replies Snart.

“What, child abduction?” Barry snorts.

“The girl is safe,” says Snart, zipping up his parka. He and Mick share a glance before making a rather anticlimactic exit, leaving Barry standing in the middle of the mall with an empty chip bag at his feet and too many questions.

It’s turning out to be a strange day indeed. Even for them.

 

 

 

There is always that one holiday party that is never talked about, never spoken of, and if mention of it somehow slips out everyone present has the option of either looking at the floor, stuffing any nearby comestible into their mouths, or hastily changing the subject.

Well this Christmas is not quite like that, and it is not exactly a party, but having the Rogues and Team Flash together in the same room is an experience Barry is quite keen on forgetting once this is all over.

 _“Don’t,”_ Cisco warns, snatching away something on a Plexiglas stand, “touch that. Unless you want something…really…bad to happen to you,” he finishes. He’s definitely going to need to work on his threats. The gadget is not even dangerous (it’s a paper mâché prototype of a power adapter) but the thought of either Snart sibling touching it gives Cisco the willies.

Snart smirks. “Are you normally this protective of…” he eyes fall to the gadget, “whatever this is?”

“I doubt you’d get it, Cold." Cisco tucks a strand of hair behind one ear and crosses his arms. He adds, “Normally we don’t let anyone into STAR Labs who has an IQ under 140.” With exceptions. The Snarts do have brains, but Cisco's currently more upset about working with the guy who tortured his brother. Which seems to be a recurring thing now.

Snart wraps his arm around Lisa’s shoulder and gives a tight smile. “Well our names are close enough to ‘smart’ that we fit right in, don’t we sis?”

Cisco rubs his eyes. “Oh my god, did Captain Cold just make a pun?” That’s supposed to be _his_ job.

“He makes a lot of those, actually,” Lisa replies, looking skyward. She even knows how to make an eye-roll look pretty. “My brother’s sense of humor is a little stale.”

“Where’s Rory?” Barry asks, changing the subject. At least one of them has to be professional here, and Doctor Stein is in Pittsburgh.

“Watching Kenzie,” says Lisa.

“Kenzie, is that—“Barry swallows—“wait a second, you left _Mick_ in charge of the girl?”

Snart pulls out an envelope from the inside of his parka. “Believe it or not, Flash, she is safer with Mick than at home.” Barry takes the envelope and does a speed-read of its contents.

After a moment, he says, quietly, “You put this together in a day?”

“You always seem so surprised when I do my research,” Snart exclaims, smiling in a way that does not quite reach his eyes. “I enjoy being thorough in all aspects of my work.”

Barry takes a step forward. “From what I just read this isn’t usually an aspect of your, uh, work.”

“Barry?” Caitlin asks, frowning.

“If what this file says is correct, then Mackenzie Dillington is being abused by her father,” Barry says. It all makes sense now. Of course, Snart could have told him this right off the bat, made things a hell of a lot easier, but if the Rogues are exceptional at anything it’s being as annoying as humanly possible.

“Oh.” Cisco’s eyes fall on Lisa, her neck, the scar hidden under a wave of dark hair. _“Oh.”_

“So do you think you can help her?” Lisa asks, turning her best pleading eyes on Cisco. Cisco reddens and sets his prototype back on its stand.

“Our cases are pretty…specialized,” he tells the Snarts, hating himself because ignoring this kind of thing is _not_ okay. And judging from Barry’s face, _he_ knows he knows it’s not okay. “I hate to say it, but CCPD usually takes care of cases like these.”

“And that, Cisco, is where you’re wrong,” says Snart. He nods at his sister and Cisco blows out a breath, looking relieved.

“Kenzie also mentioned going to visit the mall Santa,” Lisa explains. “She seemed to be under the impression that he was some sort of monster who…put things into her head.”

“A meta-human?” Caitlin asks.

Lisa gives a shrug. “That’s your field, not ours, sweetie.”

“See? I told you Santa was evil,” Cisco exclaims, wagging a finger at Caitlin. Before anyone can protest, he pulls out his cell. “I’m emailing you some photos I snapped the other day at the mall. Caitlin, can you pull them up and do a facial recognition? I think it’ll work even with the fake beard.”

“You could have just said something in the first place, about all this,” Barry mutters to Snart. “I was ready to add kidnapping minors to your ever-growing list of crimes.”

“I don’t really care what you think of me,” says Snart, keeping his voice low, _“Barry._ And you forget that list is pretty small now. All thanks to you, I might add.”

“Yeah, about that,” Barry says, “I’ve just about had it with people lying to me, so if you or your sister ever try anything like that again I don’t care how much help you need, you are never coming in here again.”

Snart chuckles. “You think this is how I enjoy spending my Friday mornings?” he asks. “Really, Flash.”

Barry’s witty comeback is cut short by the sudden explosion of Rick Astley’s _Never Give Up_ filling the room. Snart raises an eyebrow at Barry.

Caitlin jumps and quickly closes the link, looking scandalized. “Dammit, Cisco!”

“Hey, not my fault you clicked the wrong email,” Cisco says, holding up his hands in front of him. “Congratulations, by the way, on your first Rick-roll.” Lisa laughs quietly and Caitlin goes back to her computer, glaring.

“Spencer Mueller,” she says a moment later. “Middle-school guidance counselor until the particle accelerator exploded, shortly after which he got fired for…well I'm not sure, actually. He doesn’t really have a record or anything…”

“Kenzie said that Santa wanted to ‘eat her fears,’ is how she put it,” says Lisa.

“Some of the metas we’ve encountered feed on energy or radiation,” Cisco says, thoughtful. “Maybe Mueller gets his jollies from…I don't know, scared people?”

“Fear releases a number of chemicals in the body, most noticeably glutamate, adrenaline, and cortisol,” Caitlin informs them. “Maybe our meta uses those as his power source.”

“And kids are easily scared, so it makes sense to get a job as a mall Santa during the holidays,” Cisco adds and shudders, because _nope._ “Easy bait.”

“So,” Barry says, “Mueller brings out Kenzie’s worst fear, either telepathically or psychologically, and then he feeds on the resulting chemicals released into the body. I can see why you brought this to us,” he tells the Snarts. “Care to share the final bit?”

“There’s more?” Cisco asks. “I didn’t think it could get worse than a douchebag who hurts kids.” Barry catches the appreciative glance Lisa gives him, and if he squints hard he can almost see it on her brother’s face as well. He hands Cisco the envelope, since he cannot bring himself to hold it any longer.

“Tell them,” says Barry, because he’s figured it out, and the last time he’s been this angry was when he was staring at Harrison Wells behind five feet of glass.

“Kid’s medical files list multiple hospital visits and extensive injuries,” Snart drawls, stepping forward, cool as a cucumber. Too cool. Barry’s eyes fall to the bulges in Snart’s pockets, where he can clearly see the outlines of two fists being clenched. Cold’s got buttons, alright.

Cisco tilts his head. “And?”

“Those visits stopped after your little, ah, _kerfuffle_ here last year,” answers Snart, gesturing around him to the lab. “So I checked the kid out. There’s not a mark or scar on her.”

Caitlin’s eyebrows draw together. “I don’t understand,” she says.

“She’s a meta too, isn’t she?” Barry says quietly. “She can heal.”

“Which makes any implications against daddy dearest null and void,” finishes Snart. “But,” he smiles grimly, “I’ve found from experience you can only hide so much.”

Caitlin, livid, says, “So Kenzie’s father can beat her senseless and she’ll have no way to prove it? How do you explain that to the CCPD?”

“That’s where you come in,” Snart explains. “I understand you’re all buddy-buddy with the police. Bring this to them. Meanwhile, Flash here makes sure you get a nice—well, _less_ than nice Santa Claus for your…basement.” Snart’s eyes fall to the floor, as if he can see the containment levels beneath it, and his nose wrinkles.

“You’ve got everything in here the CCPD needs to put away the father,” Cisco marvels, flipping through the files in his hands. The torture of his brother is temporarily forgotten in the sheer beauty and organization of what he is seeing. He had no idea Snart was such a stickler for research. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m pissed as hell, but this is impressive, Snart. Probably illegal, but impressive.”

“We try,” says Lisa.

“We’ll help you this one time,” Barry says, folding his arms. Strangely, he doesn’t feel the need to add “you owe us” or “you better not double cross us,” or something like that, though for the life of him he cannot fathom why. These are the Rogues, for atom’s sake.

“Are you expecting a thank you?” asks Snart, his lip curling. But there is something about his smile that has lightened since he and his sister walked into STAR Labs. “We’re not the good guys, you know.”

Cisco muffles a snort, despite himself. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that,” he says. “Saving children is just the first step, then before you know it you’ll get a coffee drink named after you, Snart.”

 

 

 

Barry has seen shark-men and doppelgängers and dudes that can turn into the deadliest fart gas on the planet, but that’s all blown to hell at the sight of Mick Rory walking into the CCPD hand-in-hand with a little girl. The girl has on a pinkish dress and her hair’s done up in messy pigtails, while at her side Rory’s all glittering eyes, prickly stubble, and pocket bulges that would make any security officer weep.

“Stand down,” Joe West tells his men, rubbing his forehead because the grin on Rory’s face indicates that he knows how much of a spectacle he’s making. “They’re…they’re with me.”

He motions for Rory and the girl to follow him into his office. The girl does not seem to find Rory the least bit frightening; on the contrary she’s playing with the frayed ends of his sleeve. Joe’s seen plenty of pictures of tattooed, butch men with fluffy animals (Iris had a Rock phase, okay), but the whole thing looks so incredibly _wrong_ that he cannot help but feel comforted by the weight of his glock in its holster.

Barry breezing in a moment later sets him more at ease. Joe has gotten most of the story over the phone but he nearly has a heart attack when the girl decides to give him a _live demonstration_ of her healing powers.

“Honey, you just don’t go around pricking yourself with letter-openers,” he tells the girl, visibly distressed. _“I’m_ not the one who needs convincing.”

Kenzie rolls her sleeve back down. “Really?”

“Really. Believe it or not, I’ve seen some pretty damn strange things in this town,” Joe says, catching Barry’s eye.

“You said a bad word, Mister West,” giggles Kenzie. Barry can imagine the kid has heard a lot of bad words in the past twenty-four hours, but then again it’s proving to be a week for surprises.

Rory, who has got his feet propped up on Joe’s desk, nods at the file he gave Joe. “Can you help?” he asks. Joe tries not to take offense at Rory’s boots showering clotted mud on his papers.

He crouches down in front of Kenzie and gives her a smile. “I think I can,” he tells them. “Our child welfare program happens to be excellent, plus I’ll see to the matter personally.”

“Thank you, Joe,” Barry says, looking relieved.

Joe nods and comes to stand. “Hey, uh, Kenzie, right?”

“Uh-huh?” the girl says.

“Kenzie we’re gonna get you someplace nice and safe, you hear?”

Kenzie nods. Satisfied, Rory heaves himself out of the office chair, giving Barry and Joe what has to be the most threatening nod Joe has ever seen. He smirks at the boot-prints on Joe’s desk. The girl insists on saying goodbye to him, along with things for him to tell “Lenny and Miss Lisa,” so Barry allows them a minute. He had not known it possible for Mick to smile in a way that was not feral (let alone laugh; Barry’s going to have nightmares about that), but like Joe said, there are some pretty damn strange things in this town.

Rory tosses the girl what looks like the remains of a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels and leaves Joe’s office. On his way out he stops and leans in close to Barry, close enough that Barry catches a whiff of what smells like matches and cordite.

“Your turn, Flash,” Rory says, with a grin, and this time it’s feral.

 

 

 

Catching Spencer Mueller in the act proves to be more difficult than Barry imagined. Mueller, codenamed by Cisco as The Grinch (and hey, it’s better than Cisco’s original Saint Nightmare or, to Caitlin’s dismay, Krampus), has been more cautious after the incident with Kenzie. It is not until Christmas week that another kid loses it at Santa’s Workshop.

For a while, it goes as expected. Grab the suit, clear the area, exchange macho pre-fight repartee. Yadda, yadda, yadda. And if he’s a little cocky, so what? He’s dealt with telepathic attacks before. A guy with an uncanny amount of nose hair and a paunch isn’t half as frightening as, oh say, an eight-foot tall gorilla. Plus, Mueller seems to get his juices from touch (Barry’s mind absently hums along with _Can’t Touch This_ as he flits around Mueller).

But Barry has to land a punch sometime, and yeah, a left hook technically counts as touching the guy. He does not notice anything wrong, for a minute.

And then there is fear.

It floods his mouth, sour, and Barry’s last coherent thought before sinking to the floor is that this was on a whole different level than Grodd. This is _nothing_ like Grodd. Cisco and Caitlin’s shouting in his earpiece is drowned out by his heartbeat, fast and wet and thudding.

_Mom._

Okay, maybe he’d underestimated the evil Santa.

It is no coincidence that Leonard Snart happens to be at the Central City mall that day, and Barry later admits, begrudgingly, that he is grateful. Snart, apparently, out of some self-preservation-obsession-Barry doesn’t know what, had been keeping tabs on the meta-human for the past week and a half.

Snart tenses when he hears Mueller’s latest victim start to holler. He watches behind a pillar as the Flash, ever the hero, dashes in, and is surprised to discover a grim satisfaction at the fact that the Flash is going to kick this bastard’s ass.

Well, the ass-kicking does not go exactly as Snart imagined it would; barely five minutes later and Flash is curled up on the floor whimpering—actually whimpering, with his hands over his head.

Leonard Snart gives a sigh.

He does not know much about the Flash, but Barry Allen on the other hand, well. Snart’s done his research. He knows the story. Everyone who has lived in Central City for the past twenty years knows the story. They all have shit to deal with, but Allen’s is without doubt a special brand of suck.

Snart curls his fingers around the cold gun and sighs again. Bites his lip, because he really doesn’t want to do this—he’s supposed to be a criminal mastermind. There is an image that goes along with that. The meta-human is still winded from the Flash’s punch, so Snart takes the opportunity to kneel over Allen. He pokes him with the barrel of the cold gun. “Flash.”

The kid’s crying, for fuck’s sake.

“Flash.” Snart grits his teeth, “Barry.” What looks like steam is rising from beneath his cowl and towards the meta who is now branded forever in Snart’s mind as evil Santa (thank you, Cisco). Allen seems to hear his name and he coils deeper into himself, mumbling something about his mother.

“You’re pathetic,” Snart tells him. “Get up.” He looks over at the meta, who is doing some bizarre osmosis shit with whatever stuff is coming out of Barry’s head. Snart scowls.

 _“Now,_ Flash. You’re better than this.” Allen lets loose a sob, which makes something in Snart’s stomach turn over. Over the past year he’s come to consider the Flash something of a nemesis (because yes, he likes being a bit dramatic at times), which in his mind makes Barry Allen sort of _his._

Snart—Captain Cold—suddenly comes to the realization that watching someone else break the Flash is not alright.

He rubs a faded scar above his eyebrow. “Look. Kid,” he starts. “You’re afraid, I get it. It’s okay to be scared. You think I don’t get scared?”

That seems to get through to Allen and he uncurls a little bit. Snart continues, “Our dad’s dead, but we will always remember what he did to us. So yeah, I get scared. Lisa too. We go to sleep some nights and we see his hands reaching for us. It’s paralyzing. So don’t think for a second I don’t know what you’re going through, Flash.

“But you know what we _don’t_ do about it?” Snart pokes Allen with the butt of his cold gun again. “Hide.” He hears the meta behind him getting up. Allen better pull it together, and soon.

“Show whatever shit-show you got going on in your brain right now that you are better than it. Face it, Barry. Kick its ass.”

The steamy shit has stopped seeping from the suit. Allen is slowly starting to recover, breathing hard and struggling to his knees. But not fast enough, Snart sees. So he sets his jaw, unlocks the cold gun’s safety, and with a swift, elegant motion blasts the meta’s feet into icy oblivion. The meta howls.

 _Ho, ho, ho,_ Snart thinks.

Allen’s sitting up, wiping his face and looking humiliated. It takes him a minute to process that Snart’s even there, and when he does he looks away bitterly. “I’m here,” he grits into his earpiece, presumably to his team on the other end. “Mueller’s been neutralized.”

Snart slides his gun back into his leg holster. “Not dying, are you, Flash?” he asks, lazily. Because he doesn’t actually care. Yes, really.

Allen looks at him, mouth set in a tight line. “I…”

Snart gives a smirk. “No need to thank me,” he says. The kid gets shakily to his feet and speed dials what Snart presumes is the CCPD. The meta is still howling, so Snart takes the opportunity to walk over and clock the guy a good one to shut him up for a few hours. It is immensely satisfying.

“Was it true?” Barry asks Snart once he’s finished. He sniffs once, but other than that seems fully recovered. “What you said? I mean, I knew, but I didn’t really, uh, _know._ You know?” For such a smart kid the Flash could be pretty terrible with words sometimes.

“Everybody thinks they _know,”_ says Snart, arching an eyebrow. “Stuff happens, they say they _understand,_ but no one really understands anything unless it happens to them.”

Barry cocks his head and muses, “That’s why you were so invested in Kenzie. It made you angry, seeing what her dad was doing to her.”

“Touchy-feely moment’s over, Flash,” replies Snart, narrowing his eyes. “If you want to talk feelings I suggest you go back to your little team at STAR Labs.”

Allen raises an eyebrow of his own in an eerily Snart-like expression; Snart is not even sure the kid knows he is doing it. “I dunno, Snart,” he says, “you seemed pretty expressive a moment ago.”

“An occurrence,” Snart says, slipping on his goggles, “that is unlikely to ever happen again, so I suggest you savor the moment, Flash.”

“Nah,” Barry says, “I prefer you Cold.”

That makes Snart laugh, hard. And honestly? He would not have it any different. “Tell you what. Just for that I won’t rob anyone on Christmas Day,” says Snart, still chuckling, because the bad guy is taken down, a girl is saved in a way that he and Lisa never were, and the Flash owes him big-time.

And what do you know, Snart thinks, as the police arrive and a red streak crackles through the air. He is finally starting to feel some of that holiday cheer after all.

 

_End._

 


End file.
